Redemption
by nikki-of-stormhold
Summary: Lieutenant Marcus Diamond works for Warehouse 13, and when Isobelle Scott is arrested for the third time on his turf Mrs. Frederick turns up to make them both an offer they have no choice but to take.


Lieutenant Marcus Diamond sighed as he strode down the stairs towards the ground floor of the precinct. What was so important that they had called him down there at this time of night? He had been quietly working away on a case that had been bugging his team for a while, and being pulled away from it was irritating to say the least. Pulling open the door to the ground floor with a little too much vigour, he winced as it slammed against the concrete wall. Of the few people milling around, two looked up at the noise. He nodded at them – fellow detectives and police officers, and made his way to the front desk.

"Jones," he almost barked at the desk sergeant. "Why was I called down here?"

The young man looked a little nervous. Lieutenant Diamond wasn't sure if it was because of him or something else - perhaps the reason for his being there?

"Interview room one," Jones said, jerking his head in the direction of the said room. "And Sir, I wouldn't keep her waiting."

That didn't sound good. He nodded at the young officer and made his way towards the interview room. Pausing outside the door he paused briefly with his hand on the door handle. There was only one "her" he knew that could reduce young men like Jones to a pale, jabbering wreck. When he opened the door, his suspicions were immediately confirmed. She turned around at the sound of the door opening, staring at him with wide eyes, her purse dangling off of her forearm as it seemingly always was.

"Good evening Lieutenant Diamond," she said in a matter of fact sort of way.

"Irene," he said, nodding. "Isn't a bit late for a personal call?" He gestured to the clock, which revealed the time to be twenty past midnight.

"What makes you think this is personal?" she replied, blinking. "Our paths seem to have crossed once again, and I came to ask your help."

Marcus raised his eyebrows and sat down at the table wearily. Irene Frederick sat down opposite him, looking up at the security camera in the corner of the room.

"Do they have sound recording ability?" she asked, jerking her head in the direction of the camera.

"No," Marcus said. "And at the angle you're sitting I'm sure you're aware that your lips can't be read on the recording. Neither can mine."

"Good." Mrs. Frederick plonked her purse down on the table and snapped it open. Pulling out a sheet of paper in a plastic wallet she handed it to Marcus, tilting it so that the camera wouldn't pick up what was on it.

"You know her?"

He laughed softly.

"Unfortunately. I've arrested her twice this month."

"Yes, well," Mrs. Frederick sniffed. "One of your men just picked her up for a third time. She is down the hall in a cell."

He raised his eyebrows. The girl in the picture had been on his mind a lot lately, and although he wasn't at all surprised at her being arrested again, he wondered what it had to do with himself and the Warehouse 13 caretaker at gone midnight on a Monday evening.

"Same offence?"

"Yes. Well, several, but most notably the same thing as the past two times."

Marcus nodded.

"And what does this have to do with me? Or you for that matter. She's a petty criminal- don't we both have more important things to worry about?"

"Oh come on Marcus, we both know she's a lot more than a petty criminal. You know what she is capable of. I'm here because the Regents have heard about her... expertise... and we think we can find a use for it."

"You want to use her?" he half laughed, bitterness in his face. His last encounter with Irene Frederick had left him wary of the Regents and their warehouse.

"We want to... re-habilitate her."

"It won't work."

"Yes, well, she's clearly sorting her life out as a result of her frequent encounters with the law, I can see," Mrs. Frederick said sarcastically. She leaned forward ominously.

"Isobelle Scott is a young girl on a path to self destruction, and that should bother you, lieutenant. It's part of your job to put right the wrongs in our society."

"And it has nothing at all to do with the fact that you want what she's got?" he fired back at her, leaning back and folding his arms.

Mrs Frederick said nothing, but took back the picture and put it in her purse.

"Will you help or not?" she said eventually. "I can go over your head of course, but it's... cleaner... this way."

"And just what is it that you want me to do?" he asked.

"I'm going to make her an offer," Mrs. Frederick said calmly. "In fact, I'm going to make you both one."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Marcus sat at the table in the interview room alone, waiting for Jones. He knew that Mrs. Frederick was watching from behind the sheet of Perspex glass behind him, and for once it bothered him that he had spectators looking on. He hadn't been entirely truthful with her about Isobelle Scott, and he suspected that she knew that. The woman seemed to know everything. He had called Scott a 'petty criminal,' and Irene Frederick had been right when she had identified that they both thought her more than that. The truth was he was intrigued by the girl. She was unlike anyone he had ever met, and was actually a refreshing change from the petty criminals they dealt with every day. She amazed the Police and she amazed him, and clearly she had the same effect on the Regents. There weren't many people who could say that. Hearing the door open behind him he cleared his throat and looked down at the file in front of him on the desk. Jones closed and locked the door behind them, leading the girl around to the other side of the table. She sat down, and he locked her handcuffs to the metal bar on the desk. She tended to bring out the suspicious in people, and Jones clearly thought it more than his job was worth to take any chances.

"Will that be all sir?" the younger man asked. Marcus looked up at him appreciatively and nodded.

"Yes, thank you Jones."

With that Jones left, locking the door behind him. Marcus looked through the file one more time, paying no attention to the girl opposite him, before finally looking up to meet her gaze. It caught him off guard. She was leaning back, one leg crossed over the other, and looked entirely comfortable. She was smiling- almost smirking, an odd sort of knowing in her eyes.

"Is Jones your butler?" she asked, her tone mocking. He ignored the question, staring back at her with a level expression. It wasn't attitude, she just knew the effect she could have on people and was using it. Perhaps it was a good thing that Mrs. Frederick was watching. Perhaps he couldn't trust himself. She had a way of de-railing most people, and although he was determined not to be next, she was disarming to say the least.

"I didn't think we'd see you again so soon, Miss Scott," he said, folding his arms.

"Yes you did. I'm just sorry it wasn't you, lieutenant. The guy that picked me up was a real Neanderthal."

"I'll tell him you said that," Marcus said. "And yes, if I'm honest, I'm surprised it took this long."

She sniffed, looking at him mockingly.

"What can I say? I just really like getting arrested."

"Well you're very good at it," he shot back. To his surprise, she laughed.

"Do you honestly think that if I wanted to get away I couldn't?"

That had always bothered him. He had never believed that she hadn't been capable of evading the Police. It had seemed far too easy on both occasions that he had picked her up, and this time she had practically walked into Police custody. This, he hoped, was her weak point. There was something she needed, and he had a feeling that it was protection.

"Then why are you here?" he said quietly, leaning back with his eyes narrowed. For a moment she said nothing, and he knew he was right.

"I... upset someone. The Police don't like him almost as much as I don't. I figured we had a common enemy.

"You mean you need help."

She clenched her jaw, clasping her handcuffed hands together on the desk to lean forward.

"You could say that."

"I am saying that. You need our protection." He leaned forward too, and their hands were mere centimetres apart on the table.

"Question is, Miss Scott, whether or not we're willing to give it. We aren't a private security agency, and whatever it is that you've done this time you've broken the law, again, so every shred of respect any officer in this building might have ever had for your talents is now non-existent. In fact, you're nothing but a pain in the neck, and what we really want is to throw you out for a judge to deal with." He smiled sweetly. Mrs. Frederick had told him to do what it took to get her to comply. He felt cruel, almost, but she wouldn't respond out of anything except pure desperation. He had to make her desperate for his help.

"And yet they send a senior detective down here at half midnight to talk to me."

Despite the flicker of doubt in her eyes he'd seen a second ago, he still had a long way to go.

"I was sent, yes," he said. "But not by who you think."

She looked up at him sharply.

"The man you refer to. Julian Baudain. He doesn't suffer fools gladly. In fact, he doesn't suffer anyone gladly."

He stared at her evenly, seeing the doubt and fear begin their work in her.

"How did you..."

"I know a lot more than you give me credit for, Isobelle. I know Baudain. I have buried colleagues because of him. You've bitten off a lot more than you can chew this time, and I think you know it, don't you?"

She said nothing.

He opened the file, taking out three photographs. He didn't particularly want to see them again, but it was necessary. Laying them out on the table in front of her he sat back, looking down at them.

"This is what happens to people that upset Julian Baudain. To you, potentially. And I think you know that, don't you?"

She stared at him, not looking down at the pictures. He eyes were slightly wider now.

"Look at them, Miss Scott," he said softly. Still she didn't.

"LOOK AT THEM." He raised his voice, and she jumped. Looking down at the pictures she turned her head away very quickly. It only took one glance.

"What do you want?" she asked quietly, an edge to her voice. "This must all be in aid of something. What is it that you want from me?"

He had her. He had expected it to take a lot longer than that, but he had identified her weak point quickly enough and had pushed it, and it had worked. He hoped Mrs. Frederick was watching.

"I think we can help each other, Isobelle." He gathered up the pictures and put them back in the file.

"I don't want to send you to jail, because Baudain can reach you there just as easily as he can outside these walls. I want to protect you, but you have to agree to what we ask."

"Who is we?" she asked bitterly. "Who is your mysterious leader?"

She really was quite infuriating with her always mocking tone and her front of strength. But it was just that- a front.

"I work for a branch of the government outside the Police, and we'd like to offer you a deal."

"What's it called?" she asked. "NSA? FBI? CIA?"

"No," he said, standing up to face the Perspex glass. "Warehouse 13."


End file.
